


The Way to a Woman's Heart

by owlmoose



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Holidays, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair makes a gift for Elissa, with mixed success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way to a Woman's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 Secret Swooper gift exchange on the Swooping is Bad LiveJournal community.

Small, gentle snowflakes drifted from the sky and dusted the grass as Elissa Cousland trudged back into camp, Dog at her heels, Zevran and Wynne walking slowly behind them. They had spent the day harrying Loghain's forces, skirmishing with darkspawn and wolves; the snow had threatened all day, but they had begun falling in earnest only an hour earlier. Now that she was cold, hungry, and weary to the bone, Elissa wanted nothing more than a bite to eat and a glass of warmed wine before falling unconscious in her tent, possibly curled up with Alistair but possibly not -- she was so tired, she wasn't convinced that she would even notice whether he was there.

Still, the sight of him made her smile, his eyes warm and his hair golden in the flickering light as he knelt by the fire, fussing over something buried in the ashes, Oghren and Leliana standing behind him and watching with interest. Leliana was the first to turn and face them; she said a soft word to Alistair, who nodded without looking up. She patted his shoulder, then hurried over to the returning party.

"Was your mission successful?" she asked.

Elissa shrugged. "Close enough. We found the troops, right where the Chantry board said they would be. The path should be cleared enough for us to continue on to Orzammar."

"Good, good." Leliana maneuvered herself around to stand directly between Elissa and the fire. "Can I help you with your armor? You must be so uncomfortable in those cold, wet things."

"I'm fine, just want to get myself a quick dinner and then some sleep." Elissa raised an eyebrow at Leliana, unable to shake her memories of too many stewpots filled with tasteless mush, their first month or so on the road. "You didn't let Alistair cook again, did you?"

"No..." She shot a quick look over her shoulder at Alistair, who came up from his crouch and shook his head vigorously. "Or, ahhh, not precisely. Bodhan made dinner, but it's not quite ready yet. Are you sure you don't want to come relax in my tent a bit? I could show you my latest verses."

Elissa rolled her eyes at Zevran, who grinned; Wynne raised an eyebrow at Leliana. "Perhaps you could just tell us what you and Alistair are up to?"

"It would be quicker," Zevran agreed. "I'm disappointed in you, Leliana. If you were trying to be subtle, well. Let me be first to say, it was not exactly your best work."

Leliana sighed, then raised her voice. "My apologies, Alistair. I tried." She stepped aside, and Elissa strode past her and up to Alistair's side. He had knelt back down in the ashes, next to a small covered pot. He looked up at her with a start, then jumped to his feet.

"Hello there." He looked down at Elissa, the sides of his mouth twitching with what seemed to be suppressed glee, snowflakes glistening in his hair and eyelashes. "Welcome back."

Elissa crossed her arms. "What have you been doing?" She look a closer look at the white smudges on his nose and cheeks, too dry to be snow. "Is that _flour_?"

The smile broke through, and for a moment its brightness and warmth banished the early winter gloom. He picked the pot up by its handle and held it aloft between them. "I made you a pie!"

"You... what?" Elissa was struck speechless as Alistair removed the lid from the pot with a flourish, revealing a slab of golden dough and the scent of baked apples. "But-- how--"

"It's not a proper pie, really," he admitted. "I don't know how to make pie crust, and even if I did, I don't think I could without a real kitchen. So I used biscuit dough instead, and there were lots of apples still on the trees over there. It took all day, but now it's done!"

He looked down at her, so happy and proud, that Elissa couldn't help but smile back at him, while taking care not to look at anyone else; she could just picture the sardonic grin on Zevran's face, and she didn't even want to imagine what Morrigan must be thinking, watching from her own corner of camp. Laughing was not an option. It would break Alistair's heart. "Well, then. I suppose we'll just have to try it."

"Here, I'll cut you the first piece." Alistair knelt back on the ground and rummaged through the pack of cooking implements before coming up with a large spoon. "Or, I guess maybe not so much a 'piece' as a scoop. But that will work, right?" He plunged the spoon into the pot, grunting as he lifted out a mass of pale biscuit, crumbling around a mass of apple chunks, and dumped it in on a plate, which he handed to Elissa.

"Thank you," she said, staring down at the gluey white pile, then glancing up to see that her traitorous companions had all made themselves scarce -- disappearing into tents to change, or gathering around the pot of stew on the other side of the fire. This time, she was on her own. So she pulled out her fork and, vowing not to let any of her trepidation show, took a healthy bite.

And she chewed, and chewed, and chewed some more, the dry biscuit refusing to cooperate, its heavy crumb disintegrating into a gluey paste -- and then she hit a half-raw piece of apple, the difference in texture so jarring that she had to stop for a moment.

She glanced up; Alistair's eyes were on her, wide with hopeful anticipation, and she forced herself to finish the bite and swallow. "It's-- nice," she said. "I've, ah, never had anything quite like it." That much, at least, was true. "Is there something to drink?"

He nodded. "Leliana mulled some wine. I'll get you a mug " He leaned over the cauldron, and Elissa took the opportunity of his turned back to pick through what remained on her plate, stabbing at the unevenly chopped apple chucks to find the softer ones without as much peel sticking to them. Then Alistair handed her a mug, and she gulped a mouthful of the sweet warm wine, swishing it around in her mouth to dislodge the bits of dough and apple skin from her teeth.

She took another sip, then set down the plate. "Well, now. Wouldn't want to spoil our dinner with too much dessert. Is that Bodhan's stew I smell?" She started around the fire and toward the stewpot, pushing past Alistair to where Leliana was already serving up bowls. When Alistair did not follow, she stopped, turned around, and winced at his crestfallen expression.

"Oh," he said, voice flat, unhappy. "You don't like it."

She took a step back toward him. "Alistair--"

He held up his hand, shook his head. "I get it. It was a dumb idea, anyway." Shoulders slumped, he turned around and walked away.

For a split second, Elissa considering giving her growling stomach its way. Then common sense prevailed, and she paused only long enough to exchange her pie plate for a second mug of wine, handed to her by Wynne. "Good luck," she murmured; Elissa nodded, then followed Alistair across the camp.

It didn't take her long to catch up to him, slumped next to a boulder at the edge of camp. Even though he'd only sat there for a moment, snow had already started piling up on his shoulders as though he were a sculpture. Ignoring the cold and damp, she took a fortifying sip of her wine, then sat and handed him his mug, which he took without looking. "I'm sorry," she said. "It was a kind gesture."

Instead of replying, he took a long draught of the wine, then leaned his head back against the boulder. She reached for him, tucking her fingers around the crook of his elbow, coming as close as her armor would allow. He drank again, curling both his hands around the mug. "We missed Harvest Fair, did you notice?"

Elissa thought for a moment, counted the days and months as best she could manage -- it was so easy to lose track on the road, where one day was much like the last. "I guess we did," she said with surprise. "A few weeks ago, maybe?"

Alistair nodded. "Around the time we left the Dalish, if I mark the time correctly. And the first snowfall reminded me that Satinalia is coming soon, and we probably won't be able to celebrate that properly, either. Which got me to thinking about how much you must miss Highever, and the feasting, and your family. How unfair it is that you have to spend all these holidays sleeping on the ground and eating field rations. You've done so many nice things for me, for all of us: gifts, listening to me complain, helping me face Goldanna. I just wanted to give you something back for a change." He hung his head. "Guess I screwed that one up."

She dropped her cheek to his snowy shoulder. "Have you ever made a pie before?"

"No, but I used to sneak into the kitchens at Redcliffe." His chin came down to rest atop her head as he remembered. "One of the apprentice cooks took a liking to me, and she'd let me watch while she cut the fruit and rolled out the dough, feeding me scraps all the while. Crust leavings, bits of cheese, the usual." Elissa smiled at the image of young Alistair, perched on a stool, lurking quietly in his corner lest his source of treats dry up. "It was nice in there. Safe, warm, better-smelling than the stables. My favorite place in the castle."

"I think most boys find the kitchen to be their favorite place in the castle," Elissa said. "Fergus would do much the same thing, sit in the kitchen for hours until my mother would come to chase him out." She smiled again, pictured Fergus being marched down the hallway, Eleanor's hand clamped firmly around his ear as she took him to their father; then the smile was replaced by a lump in her throat. "Sometimes I still can't believe they're all gone."

He turned his face down into her hair and planted a soft kiss there. "I'm so sorry."

She snuggled more closely to him, took another sip of the wine, warm and comforting in her stomach. "Thank you for my Satinalia pie. Even if it was almost inedible."

His chest vibrated with a chuckle. "I'll buy you one the next time we pass an inn." She turned to face him, and they kissed, his lips soft and warm, spicy with wine and apples; she pulled him tight and needed no other gift at all.


End file.
